


A Day in the Life

by jericho



Category: Backstreet Boys, NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jericho/pseuds/jericho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of a unique friendship and a romance that could have happened but never did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Day in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> After reading that Howie and Chris both went to Valencia College, likely at the same time, I fell in love with the idea of them and wrote two series of stories on them. This is one of them.
> 
> E! Online also had a gossip item about them:   
> "Affection alert! 'N Sync hottie Chris Kirkpatrick puckered up and planted a messy peck on the face of Backstreet Boy Howie D.. (For all those getting excited out there, I'd say the lip ac-shun was closer to the cheekbone than the labium, but young folks today are so friendly these days, it's hard to tell.)"
> 
> This was written around 2000.

In a hotel room on the 28th floor, in the heart of a snow-filled city, in the kind of solitude you can only get when no one knows where you are, Chris was performing. 

He was doing impressions and silly walks and pulling out his best one-liners, spending all afternoon just being a general nutbar, because it was so encouraging to be with someone who just laughed at everything he said. He would make some comment about someone's dress at some awards show, not even meaning for it to be a joke, and Howie would laugh or giggle or snicker. And he could make jokes about anything, or bitch about anyone, because he knew it wouldn't leave the room. 

They got together maybe once a year, always using the guise of "hey, buddy, haven't seen you in awhile," and they locked themselves in a room, maybe because being in closed quarters was the only way to rebuild a friendship fast enough for a one or two day visit. It was Howie's idea the first time, to order pizza and watch movies and spend an entire day not going outside. Now it was an unspoken tradition. 

"Where's Justin?" Howie asked casually, folded up at the head of Chris's bed, flipping casually through Chris's ChildFind brochure. 

"I don't know." Chris shot a little Nerf ball through the hoop he'd stuck to the wall. "Somewhere concentrating on letting his afro grow back." 

Howie snickered. 

"He's been such a prima donna lately," Chris said. "The other day he freaked because a photographer took a photo of him from the left side instead of the right." 

"Sounds like Nick," Howie said. "Nick complained the other day that he's always in the background in the pictures lately." 

"That's because his ass would take up half the...." 

Howie grabbed the nearest weapon, a rolled up pair of socks on the bed next to him, and chucked them at Chris. "That is _so_ not nice." 

"I know." Chris flopped on the bed, laid on his back, wiggled his feet a little. "I guess I just get a little tired of it. Of kids who have been in the spotlight their whole lives and develop all kinds of issues and we end up having to deal with them." 

Howie reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a little orange sucker, unwrapping it and carefully placing the wrapper on the night table. "Want one?" 

"Sure." 

Howie found a purple one in his pocket and tossed it at Chris. Chris put it in his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully, watching the ceiling for a little longer before he sat up and faced his visitor. "Say something in Spanish." 

Howie looked up. "Huh?" 

"It sounds sexy." 

"No! I hate it when you do that." 

"Come on," Chris urged. "Just a little. Como esta and all that jazz." 

Howie grabbed the pillow next to him and threw it, hitting Chris in the chest. Chris gave his best "I've been shot" look and slid off the end of the bed. Laying on the floor, he felt yet another pillow hit him, then another, and finally Howie himself land on him like a professional wrestler. 

They kicked and fought and giggled for a couple of minutes, scrambling across the floor trying out their best WWF moves. Chris finally grabbed Howie's left leg and managed to get him on his back, doing a belly flop on him, one of the pillows separating them at the stomach. 

He held Howie in place, both of them trying to catch their breath, lying at an awkward wrestling-style angle as Chris studied Howie's face from up close. Everything about him was made from different shades of brown - chestnut hair, coffee-colored eyes, beach sand skin, lips that reminded Chris of the burnt sienna crayon he'd had as a kid that he'd used nonstop until it broke in half. He leaned down and kissed Howie lightly. When he pulled back Howie grabbed the nearest pillow and tossed it in the direction of Chris's face. "Get off me, you freak." 

Chris rolled over on his back, laying on the floor next to Howie. He pulled the pillow onto his stomach and ran his hands over the soft cotton. 

"Is that the only reason you wanted me to visit you?" Howie asked, but his tone was light. 

"Yeah, baby. It's all about the sex." 

Howie sighed. "I feel so used." 

They laid quietly for a moment looking at the ceiling, too lazy to get up. 

"Hey, you remember when Michael Jackson's Thriller video came out?" Howie asked. 

"Yeah," Chris said. "I watched it on Friday Night Videos. It scared the shit out of me." 

"Me too! At the end, when he's walking away with his girlfriend and he turns to the camera and he has those eyes..." 

"And all the zombies crawl out of fresh graves and they all know the dance moves." 

Howie snickered. "Yeah. With Olga Ray. And she'd posed for Playboy and it was this big scandal that Michael used someone who had posed for Playboy. My sister was freaked out because she thought Michael and that girl were dating. And it was the longest video ever." 

"Fourteen minutes," Chris agreed. 

"And I remember watching it and thinking it was the most exciting thing ever." Howie's voice slowed a little, got more reflective. He tossed the pillow in the air once and caught it. "And I thought 'God, I just want to create something like that. Just once before I die.' You know, something that people will be talking about 15 years from now. Something great. And I haven't yet." 

"Maybe you will," Chris said. 

"Yeah." Howie sighed deeply and hugged the pillow. Chris rolled on his side and watched him. Howie's hair was back, away from his face. His eyes were dark and the depth in them went on forever. Chris wished he'd saved his kissing chance for now. 

"Are you getting hungry yet?" Chris asked. 

"Yeah, I could eat." 

"Pizza?" 

"Okay." Howie sat up and crawled across the floor, grabbing the yellow pages and flopping them in front of him. Chris crawled over too, looking over Howie's shoulder as Howie flipped to "P." 

"Any preferences where we order from?" Chris asked. 

"I don't know. I always like to find the ad that looks like it's some Mom and Pop place that people come from all around to eat at." 

"One of those best kept secrets things." 

"Yeah." Howie flipped the page and pointed at an ad of a little cartoon chef taking a pizza out of a brick oven. "Luigi's. How about there?" 

"Sounds good." 

"No pineapple," Howie said quickly. 

"Come on...." 

"No way. Not after last time."   
  


* * *

  


Two hours later they laid on their stomachs on the bed, bellies full of pizza, picking off the toppings they liked from what was left over. 

"My sister had three New Kids on the Block dolls," Chris said. "I remember I colored on Donnie Wahlberg with Magic Marker and she cried for about a week." 

"That's so mean." 

"I know." Chris shrugged. "But it was my big brotherly duty to be mean." 

"Yeah, and someone's out there right now coloring on your doll." Howie extended his tongue and caught a piece of pepperoni. "I had a Jordan doll." 

Chris laughed. "Why? Weren't you, like, 12 or something when those came out?" 

Howie tried to shrug it off but Chris thought he saw Howie's cheeks flush a little. "I just liked him." 

"Liked him in what way?" 

Now he was sure Howie was blushing. "He was cute, all right?" 

"I can just imagine what you did with the doll." 

Chris wasn't even surprised when he got hit with another pillow.   
  


* * *

  


Another two hours passed and Howie and Chris were laying on the bed, side by side, hands folded on their respective stomachs, sock feet dangling off the end. 

"Whatever happened to Martika?" Howie asked out of the blue. 

"Didn't she do the voice of Jem?" 

"Yeah." Howie sighed a little. "Martika ruled, man. I had such a crush on her when she was on Kids Incorporated." 

"Her and Jordan Knight? That's an ecclectic mix." 

"Hey, I can't help these things." 

"I think you just like anything with dark hair," Chris said. 

"No, because then I'd like you." 

Chris rolled his head sideways and looked at Howie. "Don't you?" He tried to keep his tone light, to sound like he was only kidding. 

"Maybe a little." 

Chris's heart sputtered for a second and resumed its normal rhythm. "Can I kiss you now?" 

Howie squinted like he was thinking hard about it. "Not yet. Wait until it gets dark." 

"You are such a weird little man, Dorough." 

Howie closed his eyes slowly like he just wanted to go to sleep. "I know," he said with a little smile.   
  


* * *

  


In another two hours the sun had gone down. They lay on the bed facing each other, arms bent at the elbows, hands propping up heads. 

"Marilyn Monroe," Chris said. 

"That's easy," Howie replied. "Marilyn Monroe was in Some Like It Hot with Jack Lemmon, who was in Grumpier Old Men with Kevin Pollack, who was in A Few Good Men with Kevin Bacon." 

Chris nodded appreciatively. "A three stepper. You are way too good at this for it to be normal." 

Howie laughed. "Okay, your turn. Lance Bass." 

Chris bit his lip, turning it over in his head. Had *NSYNC been in any movies? Not yet. At least not with people Chris knew from anything else. What about the Saturday Night Live appearance? 

"Come on," Howie said. "That one's actually pretty easy." 

"Okay, smart guy, you do it." 

"Lance Bass was on an episode of Seventh Heaven with Barry Watson, who was in Teaching Mrs. Tingle with Katie Holmes, who was in Wonder Boys with Michael Douglas, who was in Disclosure with Demi Moore, who was in A Few Good Men with Kevin Bacon." 

"That's pretty long," Chris protested. 

"That's five steps. It's called Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon." Howie bit his lip. "Wait. Isn't Kevin Bacon in My Big Fat Greek Wedding?" 

"Ha. I don't think so." Chris ran his finger along the flower pattern of the bedspread, tracing the lily down to the stem. "Want me to hit you again?" 

"No. My head hurts now." Howie let his head drop on the pillow. "Think anyone knows I'm here?" 

"I told them," Chris said. "And it's two days off. I can do whatever I want with them. They're not going to come up and boot you out for being in a rival boy band or anything." 

"Good," Howie said quietly. "Because I need this." 

Chris looked up from the bedspread. Howie lay there peacefully, fingering a loose thread on the pillow, wearing the same little smirk he always did when he was in a good mood. 

"Me too," Chris said. "You make me feel sane." He let his head drop on the pillow so they were still lying in the same positions, except now their faces were level. Howie smiled calmly and Chris smiled back. 

"Can I kiss you now?" Chris asked. 

Howie closed his eyes. "Please." 

Chris squirmed closer, leaning in, smelling the dark sandalwood cologne Howie was wearing and feeling the warmth generated by his body. Their lips touched and parted, tongues meeting timidly, hands moving up each other's arms until they reached the backs of necks and pulled each other closer. 

"Why do you make me wait for this?" Chris asked, his lips brushing against Howie's as he spoke. "We could have been doing this all day." 

"Because every year I tell myself I'm not going to do this. And I keep trying to talk myself out of it." 

Chris pulled away a little, meeting Howie's eyes in extreme close up. "Why?" 

"Because it hurts." 

"I can be gentler," Chris said. "I mean...." 

Howie put his finger over Chris's lips. "I don't mean physically. I mean in here." He patted the left side of his chest with two fingers. 

Just hearing him say that made Chris kind of feel the same way, but he could only repeat his previous question, maybe because he wanted to hear the perfect answer. "Why?" 

"Because every year I come here and I think I'd like you as a boyfriend. Then when I leave I realize I'd never want you as a boyfriend." 

Chris's stomach clenched. That was the best and the worst thing about Howie. If a thought popped into his mind, it came out in words, completely unfiltered, so he always said what he meant even when Chris would rather not hear it. 

Chris tried to smile a little. "Because I suck?" 

"Because I never see you," he said. "The only reason I see you once a year is because we plan it months in advance." 

"Absense makes the heart grow fonder," Chris said, realizing how lame it sounded. 

Howie let out a cold, two-second laugh. "Yeah, well, whoever said that probably had a girlfriend who was cheating on him." 

Chris furrowed his brow. "That's probably the most cynical thing I've ever heard you say." 

Howie didn't reply. He just focused on the loose pillow thread, pulling it until it lengthened and twisting it around his index finger. His knuckles brushed against Chris's chest as he did it. 

"Besides, you already have a girlfriend," Howie said, looking like he was talking to the string. 

"Yeah but...." Chris took his hand off Howie's arm and rested it between them, wanting to squeeze Howie's with it but a little apprehensive now. "She's cool but...you know, it's easier to have a girlfriend. Especially when you're in this business." As soon as he said it, he knew what was coming. 

"I don't have a girlfriend," Howie said simply. 

"But that's the difference between you and me," Chris said. "It's like...it's like you don't _need_ one. You're just out there. It's like you don't do anything you don't mean wholeheartedly. You just do your thing." Chris let out a frustrated sigh. He knew he wasn't explaining himself very well. 

"Does your girlfriend know you're not with her wholeheartedly?" 

Chris turned that question over in his head. Normally he would have automatically said yes, but there was something about Howie that made it impossible to bullshit. "No," he said, and it was more of a revelation to him. Howie already knew the answer. 

Howie didn't say anything. He wound the thread around his finger again, watching the tip turn dark pink and letting go. 

"Look, I just don't want to think about it right now." Chris slid his arm under Howie's, wrapping it around Howie's body and pulling him closer. "We don't have to do anything. I just like shooting the shit with you. I like talking to you about New Kids dolls and Michael Jackson videos and Kevin Bacon." He pulled Howie even closer, until their chests were touching, and kissed him on the forehead. "I don't care if all we do is talk once a year." 

Howie's head nuzzled under Chris's, his forehead pressing against Chris's shoulder. "And order pizza." 

"And talk shit about Nick." 

"And Justin." 

Howie's arm slid around Chris and pulled him tighter until they were wrapped in a hug. "I want you," Howie said against Chris's neck. 

"Are you going to pretend I'm Martika?" 

He felt Howie's chest jerk against his in laughter. "No. Jordan Knight." 

"And I'll pretend you're Olga Ray," Chris said, and he had to wait until Howie had stopped giggling to kiss him again. 

Three hours later they lay under the warm blankets of Chris's bed, naked but not having sex because they couldn't stop talking about Michael Jackson's career and why it had gone on such a downward spiral. Howie blamed the plastic surgery, and Chris said that if he had just had cats and dogs like everyone else, he wouldn't have a problem. Howie burst into a fit of laughter that didn't stop until Chris put his arm around him and pulled him close, holding his body against him, listening to Howie's uneven breathing in his ear as Chris stroked him to orgasm. It was barely over when Howie put his arm around Chris's shoulder and pulled him in, Chris's face buried in the curve of Howie's neck and whimpering when Howie did the same for him. Then they laid back, catching their breath in the darkness, eyes closing slowly until they were both asleep and their day together was over.   
  


* * *

  


Chris opened his eyes and came face to face with the alarm clock. 4:23 a.m. Howie would be leaving in about two hours, getting on a plane and going back to his group, his recording, his tour. And then another year would go by, and things would change, and maybe Howie wouldn't even want to come back. He could meet someone, or lose interest, because he was right about the absense thing. Absense just made people forget. It had never occurred to him any other year that it might be the last time, but something in Howie's eyes said that he thought it would be. And Howie was usually right about these things. 

The room was dark and still. Chris rolled over onto his other side and saw Howie lying on his back, breathing deeply, one hand resting lightly on his stomach and the other at his side. Chris reached over tentatively and rested his hand on Howie's, feeling the warm skin and the slender fingers. He leaned closer to kiss Howie's cheek and Howie slowly opened his eyes. 

Chris expected Howie to say something like "hey," but he didn't. Instead Howie rolled towards him, pulling him into a deep kiss, his hands running along Chris's body as if to memorize it. Chris rolled over on top of him and kissed down his body, pulling the blanket down with him. Howie raised his knees, made an "uh" sound when Chris moved between his legs, moved his hips slowly when Chris started using his flickering tongue. 

He looked at the clock again at 4:46, then closed his eyes as he pushed all the way inside Howie. Howie was hot and tight, and Chris wondered how long it had been since Howie had done this. Then he realized that unless it was a year ago, he didn't really want to know. 

He started a slow rhythm and Howie moaned quietly, moving his hips to meet Chris's thrusts. Howie ran his hands up Chris's back and then dragged them down again, this time making an invisible trail with his fingernails. Chris felt his insides twitch. "Oh fuck," he moaned. "Keep doing that." 

Howie did it again, this time harder. Everyone Chris knew had fingernails that were bitten down to the skin, and he'd never noticed that Howie's weren't. He opened his eyes and saw Howie's head back, his eyes closed and his jaw gone slack, his body jerking in time with Chris's thrusts. Howie mumbled something that wasn't in English and Chris realized for the first time that it wasn't accidental. Howie knew exactly how to push his buttons, and he did it so outright that Chris had overlooked it. Everything that he had ever said turned him on, Howie filed away in his head and used later. 

"Are you having fun?" Chris panted. 

"Fuck yeah." 

It was over way too soon. When Chris came he pressed his forehead against Howie's chest, and Howie ran the palms of his hands along Chris's shuddering back. Chris stroked Howie to orgasm, rolling off him and lying next to him so he could watch Howie's head jerk back into the pillow, and his eyes squeeze shut, and his jaw twitch when he made a series of "ah" noises. He finished with a long groan. 

Chris laid back for a second, wanting to enjoy the afterglow but also wanting to dispose of the condom. "I'll be right back," he said, climbing out of bed and going into the bathroom. When he came out Howie was still on his back, the sheet pulled up around his stomach. 

Chris flopped down in bed next to him, rolling over to give him a long, sated kiss. When it ended Howie sighed deeply. "I guess I should shower." 

"Okay." 

Howie got up, grabbing his clothes off the floor and tucking them under one arm. He grabbed his shoulder bag and closed the bathroom door behind him, leaving Chris in darkness again. 

Chris stayed in bed, listening to Howie shower and shave on the other side of the door. Howie reemerged fully clothed with his hair combed and the smile back on his face. 

"Can I turn this on?" he asked, motioning to the desk lamp. 

"Go for it." 

Howie flicked on the light, sending a faint golden glow around the room. He grabbed his money and keys and assorted pieces of paper off the desk and shoved them back in his jacket pocket. Chris studied Howie as he walked around the room, looking for anything he could have forgotten to throw in his suitcase. When he was satisfied, he went over and zipped up his luggage, pulling it off the chair and setting it by the door. 

"Well, Chris, I'll see you later." 

Chris smiled. "Come here. You're not getting away that easy." 

Howie walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, letting Chris sit up before he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "Thanks for a great time," Howie said. 

"Another great time." Chris pulled back and kissed him. Now Howie tasted like toothpaste and smelled like aftershave. He was back to the real world Howie. 

Howie pulled away and stood up. "Well, my car's probably waiting so...." 

"Yeah. See you around." 

"See ya." Howie lifted his suitcase and opened the door, giving one more big smile before he shut it behind him and Chris was alone again. 

Chris laid there for a moment, picturing Howie walking down the hall, heading past the ice machine and the maid cart, nearing the elevator. Chris rolled sideways suddenly and ran his hand across the papers on the night table, his search getting more frantic by the second. Finally, under the lamp, he found a lupus charity flier. He flipped it over and saw Howie's cell number, written in black pen in Howie's handwriting. 

He picked up the hotel phone and dialed the number. Howie was probably in the elevator now, getting ready to go through the lobby. When he reached the car, a guy in a black suit and cap would take his bag, open the door for him, call him "Sir" and then zip him off the airport. 

"Hello?" Howie answered, cheery as usual. Chris could hear street sounds in the backgroud. 

"Howie, I just wanted to tell you...." Chris wound the phone cord around his finger, searching for the right words. "I just wanted to tell you that you're my Thriller video." 

There was a long pause. Chris heard traffic in the distance. 

"Did you hear me? I said...." 

"I heard you," Howie said quietly. "Thank you." 

"And I'll see you next year," Chris said. 

"Yeah." 

"You promise?" Chris tried to sound chipper but he knew he hadn't managed it. 

"Chris." Howie's voice was soft and something about it made Chris want to burst into tears. "Of course I promise." 

"Okay. Have a safe flight." 

"I will." Chris heard Howie take a deep breath. "Bye." 

By the time Chris said "bye" there was already a dial tone. He hung up the phone slowly, laying back and looking at the ceiling, wondering what he should do with his day.   



	2. A Month of Sundays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sequel to "A Day in the Life."

Chris didn't have to wait another year to see Howie. He saw him a month later, at the American Music Awards, looking as out of place in the glitter as a sandstone in a pile of diamonds. 

As usual, the red carpet interviewers were most interested in talking to Justin and JC, especially since Justin had Britney Spears on his arm and a big cowboy hat designed to call attention to himself. Chris hung behind JC, listening to JC answer questions. How did they think their chances were tonight? Would they be taking home any awards? It hadn't even occurred to Chris that Howie would be there. At least he hadn't consciously thought about it. 

Then he looked over, past Jennifer Lopez and her crew, and through the couture dresses and borrowed jewels caught a flash of brown hair. His heart sputtered. He craned his neck. And when the person turned, his heart sputtered again. 

Howie noticed him right away, looking through the chaos and smiling calmly. Chris nodded a little in reply and felt a sharp poke in his side. 

Lance leaned in and whispered, "Are you paying attention here?" 

"Yeah," Chris said, finding the camera from instinct and smiling big at it. "Happy to be here. Happy to be here." 

It was rare that the two groups were in the same place at the same time, and even when they were, Chris and Howie didn't really talk. There was a time and place for everything, and his friendship with Howie was reserved for once a year, in a hotel room, ordering pizza and talking trash. Once a year, he told himself, until it became like a mantra. Once a year. Once a year. We have work to do. 

So he focused on the task at hand and didn't look at Howie for the rest of the night. He tried once during the ceremony, but he couldn't see him from where he was sitting. But he knew where Howie was at all times. He felt a magnetic tug from whatever corner of the room Howie was frequenting. And he couldn't help it, he figured. He'd known the guy for what seemed like forever. They were old friends.   
  


* * *

  


Three hours later they were backstage, amongst the post-show chaos. Media. Photographs. People comparing awards and congratulating each other. Chris noticed Howie across the room with his group, talking to some Spanish artist that Chris didn't recognize. He poked the closest person, which was JC, and said, "I'll be back." 

The crowd bounced him back and forth like a pinball. He passed about 18 different smells on the way over there - expensive cologne, trendy perfume, mounds of hairspray. Finally he was right next to Howie, looking at the back of his head, smelling him, close enough to touch him. 

Chris tugged a little on Howie's sleeve and the whole group turned in unison. 

"Um, congratulations," Chris said brightly. 

"Thanks," AJ said, leaning across the gap between them and shaking Chris's hand. "You too." 

"Thanks. Where are you...." Chris had already started the sentence before he realized that he didn't know how to finish it. He wanted to grab Howie and yank him away, but he couldn't do that, for so many reasons. He wasn't even sure why he'd come over here, but he might as well keep going. "Where are you guys heading after this?" 

No one answered right away. Nick's eyes narrowed. Kevin turned abruptly and started talking to the nearest person who was not Chris. Howie wasn't saying anything, just looking up at Chris with those beagle eyes. Brian finally answered. "In Style party," he said. 

"I think we're going there too," Chris said. "I'll see you there." Chris turned and shoved his way back through the crowd, keeping his eyes on his own group across the room, trying to keep his cheeks from flushing. 

He finally reached Lance and grabbed his arm. "Where are we going after this? Can we go to the In Style party?" 

"Maybe," Lance said. "It's up to the rest of them. Why?" 

"I don't know," Chris answered quickly. "I just thought it sounded cool." 

Joey leaned across Lance and patted Chris's arm. "I'll go to the In Style party with you." 

"Cool. It just sounded fun, that's all." Chris still couldn't get his heart to slow down. 

"I don't know where Justin's going," Lance protested. 

Joey made an exaggerated face. "Fuck Justin. I don't think he gives a shit where we're going." 

Chris smiled in spite of himself, suddenly so relieved that it was absurd. 

Joey walked around behind Lance and put his arm around Chris. "If we leave right now, we'll be the first ones at the free bar." 

Chris realized, not for the first time, that Joey was the coolest fucking guy on Earth.   
  


* * *

  


Chris and Joey were belly up to the bar before the Backstreet Boys even got there. Chris tried not to watch the door, tried to keep his mind on what Joey was saying. "We should schmooze," Joey said, spinning his ice cubes around in his otherwise empty glass. "But not without another drink." He slid the empty glass across the bar and it took the bartender about five seconds to replace it with a full one. 

"Yeah," Chris said, finishing off his drink and setting down his own empty glass. "Let's get warm and toasty." 

Full drink in hand, Chris followed Joey over to Quincy Jones and one of his daughters. A waiter walked by Chris, holding out a tray of champagne, and Chris took one of those, too. "Hey," he said, poking Joey in the side. "Mobile alcohol." 

"I love these things," Joey said. 

So they talked to Quincy Jones. And then Jessica Simpson. And then a couple of stuffy record execs. Chris's heart was still beating faster than a racing thoroughbred, a stubborn knot of anticipation sitting in his stomach. How long was it going to take Howie to show up, anyway? 

It was crazy that he was feeling like this. He'd gone to the same school as Howie, sat through weeks of boring choir practices, brushed against Howie in the hallway and shot the shit with him between classes. And never once had he felt like this. Howie had been the same to him as any other friend. They got drunk, they fought over the TV remote, they spent the last of their money at the arcade next to the dorm. He'd seen Howie with girlfriends, and boyfriends, and friends and lovers, and Chris couldn't ever remember feeling jealous. 

And it wasn't like the last visit was the first time they'd had sex, either. The sex thing didn't actually evolve until he and Howie started meeting once a year, their lives so distant that they didn't even call each other the other 11 months. It happened first because they were drunk, and then because they were horny, and because their lives were so sheltered that they could do it knowing neither of them would tell the tabloids. But now, after all this time, Chris could barely stand still. 

The record exec droned on about Menudo, talking about how Ricky Martin had managed to rise above it and make a solo career. Joey nodded politely, gulping down more of his drink. Chris would have been offended by the line of conversation if he didn't suddenly feel a hand on his arm. 

He spun around, already knowing who it was when Howie flashed him a big smile. "Hey." 

"Hey," Chris said. 

Chris smiled at Howie. Howie smiled back. Neither of them said anything for a ridiculous amount of time, and finally Howie tapped his jacket pocket. "Want to get stoned?" 

"Yes!" 

He forgot all about Joey and followed Howie through the crowd. He watched Howie in front of him, smiling and nodding and saying hello to all the right people, and realized he was doing the same thing. Then Howie reached the back of the room and walked down a long hallway, past the rest rooms and a couple of doors marked "Staff only" and opened the one at the end marked "Emergency exit." 

Chris tensed, a little worried that an alarm might sound, but it didn't. They stepped out into the cool night air and stopped next to a garbage bin. 

Howie looked down to fish the joint out of his pocket and the wind blew his hair in his face. 

"How have you been?" Chris asked. 

"Good. Really good." Howie held the joint in his slender fingers and motioned with his thumb. "Got a light?" 

"I think so." Chris fished through his pockets, a little more frantically than he would have liked, and found a book of matches he'd just grabbed off the bar. He tossed them and Howie caught them, striking one and lighting up. 

Howie took a deep toke, his eyes closing as he did it. "You know how long it's been since I've done this?" he asked with a strained voice. 

"What? Smoked pot?" 

"Yeah." He exhaled a band of smoke and passed the joint to Chris, stepping back and leaning against the garbage bin. 

Chris inhaled. "I take it that's a rhetorical question." 

"A year," Howie replied. "Nick smokes it so often, it's like he's going to join a reggae group." 

Chris laughed and puffs of smoke escaped from his lungs. "I hear that's not all he does." 

Howie took the joint back and took a drag. "If you're talking about coke, he doesn't do that anymore. Although when he quit he gained a lot of weight, so we're just trying to keep him off it. One of us tries to be with him at all times." 

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?" 

"Yeah. So there's a lot more to it than the little jokes you make." 

Chris felt a chill run up his spine. He tried to reason that he was reading too much into that comment, but it felt an awful lot like a jab. 

"Sorry," Chris mumbled. But for whatever reason - maybe the alcohol - he suddenly couldn't leave it at that. "That almost sounded bitchy, you know." 

Howie didn't answer. He looked down at the ground, his hair falling in his face, and took another toke. 

"Are you mad at me?" Chris asked. He meant for it to sound like a normal, logical question, but his voice came out quiet and strained. 

Howie kicked the ground with his foot, his arm extending to pass Chris the joint. Chris shook his head. 

"I was just...I was just trying to make you laugh," Chris said weakly. 

Howie raised his head, brushing the hair out of his face. "Do you want any more of this? Because I have to get back inside." 

"No," Chris said, his voice almost a whisper. 

"Okay." Howie threw the joint on the ground and crushed it with his boot. And Chris realized that Howie really was going to go back inside. No more friendly banter. No more "how ya' doing, buddy?" Just back inside to be strangers again. 

Chris rushed to the door, getting there just as Howie reached to open it. "No. Not yet." 

Howie stared up at him. No questioning look. No humor in his eyes. Just watching Chris patiently, waiting for him to get out of the way. And Chris realized for the first time ever how much Howie had changed in the last six years. 

Chris put his hands on Howie's arms, wanting to keep him in place. "What's with you?" he asked. "What's the matter? Just talk to me." 

"Chris," Howie started, and then seemed to lose his nerve. When he spoke again, he looked like he was talking to the garbage bin. "A year is long enough recovery time, but a month isn't." 

"What do you...." 

"And don't ask me what I mean. You know what I mean." 

"I know what you mean." Chris reached down and grabbed Howie's right hand, the familiar feeling of Howie's skin hitting him like a gust of wind. Chris pulled Howie's hand toward him and rested it on the left side of his chest. "It hurts in here." 

"Yeah," Howie said. He leaned forward and rested his head on Chris's chest, letting Chris pull him closer and wrap him in a tight hug. 

"It hurts me too," Chris said against Howie's shoulder, hugging him even tighter. "It hurts so fucking much." And it did. Chris felt like his heart was cracking in two. Like he could start crying if he only let himself. 

He heard Howie breathing steadily, their chests moving together rhythmically. Chris heard Howie take a breath to speak, and heard the words start in the back of Howie's throat and come out like a stream of smoke. "What's happening here?" Howie asked. 

"I don't know." 

Suddenly the door opened, banging Chris in the head hard enough for him to see stars. "The fuck?" Chris snapped, letting go so Howie could pull away. 

"Sorry." It was Joey's voice. He turned and saw Joey poking his head out the door. Joey looked from Chris to Howie and his facial features tensed. "Oh. Sorrysorrysorry." 

"It's okay," Howie said. His smile was back. 

"We were just smoking illegal drugs," Chris said brightly. "Doing very un-boy band things." 

"I bet," Joey said, and then rumbled with laughter. 

"It's not like..." Chris said, but his voice trailed off and he couldn't help but laugh too. "You almost knocked my lights out." 

All three of them laughed, including Howie. And the sparkle was back. 

"Okay, I'll be inside," Joey said. "Don't leave me for too long." 

"I won't." 

The door closed and they were alone again. The mood was broken, but Chris didn't want to lose his chance. He pressed himself against Howie again, wrapping his arms around Howie's waist. "Stay with me tonight. At the hotel." 

"I..." 

"Not to do anything," Chris said. "Just to talk and stuff." 

Howie sighed. "I'll tell you where I'm staying and if you want to show up, you can show up." 

"No," Chris said, squeezing him tighter. "I can tell you right now. I'll want to show up." 

Howie seemed to think about it, and the anticipation was so high that Chris almost hummed the Jeopardy theme song. "Okay," Howie said. "My room. When do you want to leave?" 

"Like, right now." 

Twenty minutes later they were in the back of a cab, giggling about a combination of something Chris said and the alcohol that was in their systems. The driver stopped at a red light and Howie picked a thread of music out of the rest of the chaotic sounds. He leaned forward. "Could you turn that up, please?" he asked the driver. 

The driver, still silent, turned up the radio and the car filled with the sounds of Ricky Martin and Christina Aguilera. 

"I love this song," Howie sighed. 

"You're kidding. Really?" 

"Yes!" Howie flopped back in his seat and sang along. "Time is precious and it's slipping away, and I've been waiting for you all of my life...." 

Chris grinned and joined in. "Nobody wants to be lonely..." 

"So why..." 

"Why?" 

"Why don't you let me love you?" Howie closed his eyes and smiled. 

Chris turned to the side a little, studying him. "You have a beautiful voice," he said. 

Howie opened his eyes and rolled his head sideways. "Really?" 

"Yes," Chris replied, and received the broadest, most heart-stopping smile he'd ever seen.   
  


* * *

  


An hour and a half later they were laying in bed, Chris on top of Howie, the sheets wrapped around them like a cocoon. It was the first time they'd had sex and one of them hadn't run out the door to catch a plane. The first time they'd been able to just lie there and face the consequences. 

Chris propped his head on his hand and traced Howie's bottom lip with his finger. One of those smooth, perfectly arched lips, the color of his favorite crayon. Howie lay calmly, letting Chris's hands run across his face, letting Chris's eyes scrutinize him. He didn't flinch when Chris ran a fingertip across his eyelid. He occasionally kissed Chris's finger when it ran across his lips. 

Chris thought about saying it. Debated it. At that moment, he meant it more than anything. But those were strong words to throw around. He took a deep breath and said it anyway. "I think I'm in love with you." 

Howie flinched and fixed his line of vision on some other point in the room. 

Chris felt his heart crumbling. "I'm sorry." 

Howie grabbed the hand Chris was using to touch his face and pulled it away. But then he held it in his own. "Why now?" he asked. "Why not two years ago? Or five years ago?" 

"I don't know," Chris answered honestly. "Do you feel the same way?" 

Howie's voice was so quiet that Chris barely heard him. "Yes." 

"Then what about you? Why now? Why not five years ago?" 

Howie stayed focused on a point near the door, almost like he was fantasizing about leaving. Howie opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Then opened it again. Pressed so close to Howie, Chris could almost feel the agitated beat of Howie's heart, the nervousness twitch through his body, the pain of what he was about to say. 

Howie's eyes narrowed. "I've always felt this way," he said, and Chris swore he could hear Howie's voice break. Howie took a deep breath and finally looked at Chris, giving him a pained smile. 

Chris was speechless. His jaw dropped. His eyes widened. He knew he should say something but he couldn't find his voice. 

"Go ahead," Howie said. "Say 'what do you mean?'" 

"I..." 

"It's okay," Howie said, his voice sarcastic and at the same time so strained that it was ready to crumble. "I'll just tell you what I mean. I mean that I've been in love with you for years. Probably since the day I met you." He let out a shaky breath, and then held up his hand like he was counting each statement on his fingers. "It's the whole reason I hung out with you. It's one of the big reasons I joined that choir. It's the whole reason I ever even talked to you in the first place. I saw you in the hallway and I just fell in love with you. I can't explain it. And I know you probably want to just leave right now, so go ahead." 

Chris didn't move. He just stared. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Ha!" Howie said. "Why?" A single tear rolled down his face and he caught it with his finger. "So you could tell me that you liked girls? Or that you only liked me as a friend? No thanks. I'd rather just live with it than hear something like that." 

"Howie..." Chris wiped away another tear, then stroked his hand across Howie's forehead. "Howie, I didn't know...." 

"Could you just...could you just get off me please?" 

Chris rolled off immediately. Howie climbed out and grabbed his shorts, tugging then on and going into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, leaving Chris on his back in bed. 

Chris stared at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. Of course he would have gone for it. He could have easily felt those things if he thought there was a reason for it. And he knew now, with absolute certainty, that he meant what he said when he started the whole conversation. And now he didn't know what was happening. 

He rolled into a fetal position, watching the door. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry or knock. He crawled out of bed and tugged on his boxers, crossing the room and tapping on the door. 

"Howie?" he said. "Do you want me to go?" He pressed his head against the door. Please, he thought. Please don't want me to go. 

The door opened suddenly. Howie flicked off the bathroom light and had an embarrassed smile. "Sorry," he said, wiping away the last of the tears. "I didn't mean to get weird on you." 

"You didn't get weird." Chris grabbed one of Howie's hands and squeezed it. "Come on. Let's get back in bed." 

They crawled under the sheets again, leaving their boxers on this time. Chris laid on his side, turning Howie so he was facing him, and cuddled up close. He ran his fingers through Howie's hair, pulling it across him so it formed a veil around them. Then he used his palm to smooth it back again, running his hand across Howie's face. 

"I want to be with you," Chris said. "And not once a year." 

"But you have a girlfriend." 

"Only sort of," Chris said. "And I'll explain it to her." 

"We still never see each other." 

Chris sighed heavily. "I don't know how to answer that one. I guess we just do the best we can." 

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" Howie offered. 

Chris smiled. "Something like that." He kissed each of Howie's eyelids, and then his lips. "Want to go to sleep?" 

"No." 

Chris kissed him again, but longer this time. "Want to do something else?" 

"This is a dangerous time to do that," Howie said. "We just had an intense conversation and we're feeling very intense things." 

"So?" 

"So it won't be sex. It'll be making love. And there will be heavy feelings with it and maybe we shouldn't go there yet." 

Chris buried his face in Howie's chest. "You are, like, the master of playing hard to get. You know that?" 

Howie snickered a little. "Sorry. Let's go to sleep and you can wake me up in the middle of the night again." 

"Okay." 

Howie reached over and flicked off the light, bathing the room in darkness. He rolled onto his other side and cuddled back against Chris, so they were laying spooned against each other as they went to sleep.   
  


* * *

  


Four hours later, Chris cuddled against the warm body next to him. He opened his eyes slowly, running his hand down Howie's side and across his chest. Howie mumbled something, pressing back against Chris. 

Chris leaned in and murmured in Howie's ear. "Howie Dorough, this is your wake-up call." 

Howie laughed until Chris rolled him onto his back and covered Howie's mouth with his. They kissed searchingly, then with growing intensity, things progressing so quickly that it was like someone had flicked a switch to turn them on. 

Chris squirmed until he was on top of Howie and bit Howie's bottom lip. "I want to get kinky with you," Chris said. "I want to try everything with you." 

"You want to dress me up like a nurse?" Howie asked. 

"Stop making me laugh. We'd get so much more sex done if we didn't stop to laugh." 

"But the laughing is my favorite part." 

Chris ground his hips against Howie's, his tongue slipping down Howie's neck and heading toward one of his nipples. "Your *favorite* part?" 

"Okay. Almost." 

"I don't want to get kinky with you tonight," Chris said, dragging his tongue down Howie's stomach. "Tonight I just want to make love to you." He wrapped his lips around Howie's cock before Howie could protest. 

Chris worked on Howie for about 30 seconds before he broke his rhythm to say, "Is that okay with you?" 

"Uh huh," Howie breathed. 

When Howie was on the brink of orgasm, he gripped Chris's shoulders hard. Chris knew this was his signal to stop, and he let Howie flop him over on his back. He sighed when Howie's tongue flickered across the head of his cock. 

"You give the best blow jobs," Chris groaned. 

"That's what Nick says." 

Chris froze. "You're kidding, right?" 

Howie let out a deep laugh before he took Chris's cock all the way to the back of his throat. 

"Really," Chris said, pausing to gasp. "You're kidding, right?" 

Chris heard a slurp. "Of course I'm kidding," Howie said. 

"I still don't believe you." 

"Okay," Howie said, bending lower to swipe his tongue across Chris's thigh. "Do you want to stop and talk about this right now?" 

"No." 

"Good." Howie moved back up his body and kissed Chris deeply, tongues melting together and jaws working in unison. 

Ten minutes later they were in perfect harmony, Chris thrusting into Howie at the same time as Howie's hips bucked towards him. Howie dug his fingernails into Chris's shoulders and Chris groaned. He went even deeper, hitting the spot that made Howie's back arch and his body writhe. 

"Why am I..." Howie started, then paused as his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw twitched. "...always the bottom?" 

Chris shuddered, wiping away a bead of sweat that was dripping closer to his eye. "Don't you like being the bottom?" 

"Yesss," he hissed. "It's just..." 

Howie's hands dug into Chris's arms, his hips jerking until Chris rolled over onto his back. Howie started to ride him, barely missing a beat, rotating his hips and thrusting on Chris's cock like he knew exactly how to make himself come. Chris thought he would come just from watching him, Howie's head back and a strand of hair sticking to his lip. Chris reached up to pull it away and Howie took Chris's finger in his mouth, sucking on it and rolling his tongue over the tip. 

"Fuck," Chris grunted, pumping his hips faster, pressing his head back into the pillow. He could barely stand it, Howie so tight and hot around him. He squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth when he came, groaning loudly. Howie pulled off him and bent over him, kissing Chris deeply as he jerked off and came a few seconds later. 

Chris laid there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Howie dropped next to him, breathing just as heavily. 

"Fuck, man," Chris said. "I had no idea you could do that." 

Howie chuckled evilly. "You've only just begun to see the things I can do." 

Chris rolled on his side and rested his hand on Howie's chest. "Like what?" 

"You'll find out soon enough." 

"But where did you learn all of that?" 

Howie smiled at him, the sparkle back again. "Chris, I'm in the music industry. I've had sex with a lot more people than just you." 

"I know," Chris said, rubbing his face against the smooth pillow. Then he brightened. "Like Nick?" 

He wasn't even surprised when he got a pillow in the face.   
  


* * *

  


That morning they started their good-bye kiss 10 minutes before Chris had to leave, and it still wasn't enough time. The kiss spilled out into the hallway, Howie's back to the wall and Chris leaning against him, tongues hard at work trying to make up for however long it was going to be before they saw each other again. 

A door opened with a loud click and Nick walked out. He paused for a second and raised his finger like he wanted to say something before he turned around and walked back in his room again. 

"He's gonna be pissed," Chris spurted. "I'm stealing his boyfriend." 

Howie swatted his stomach. "You have to go." 

"Yeah, I do." Chris kissed him one last time, trying to make it count. "We'll just see what happens, okay? No worries." 

"No worries," Howie repeated. 

"See ya." 

"See ya." 

Chris walked slowly to the elevator, around the corner and back to his world. He grabbed a taxi outside the hotel, knowing that if he phoned for a car it would get there around the time a taxi would have him back. When he got back everyone was slumped in Joey's room, waiting to leave. 

Chris sat down next to Joey and patted his leg. "Hey." 

Joey smiled. "You have a big stupid grin on your face." 

"I do?" Chris looked down, trying to straighten out his expression. "Look, Joey, don't...." 

"Not until you want me to," Joey replied. "I told them you went to the party of that record exec." 

"Thanks. You rock, you know." 

"I know." 

"I'll be back." Chris stood and stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind him and phoning one of the assistants. 

"Yeah, can you find out where Howie Dorough is going to be and send him one of the Chris Kirkpatrick dolls?" 

"Sure thing." 

Chris snapped his cell phone closed and smiled. That oughta tide them over. At least for now.   



End file.
